As he corrected the cashier’s math, he acknowledged the contrast between Shari and the woman he’d been married to. Crystal all but lived on salads, bran cereal, and fruit. Her hip bones and shoulder blades had only a few layers of skin over them, and he could span her waist with his hands. The one time, early in their marriage, when he’d asked why she stayed so slim—actually he’d made the mistake of calling her skinny—she insisted he had no idea what it took for a woman to compete in today’s world. Since she worked as a nail technician, he didn’t get the connection, but the exchange had taught him that her body image as a topic was off-limits.
By the time things had fallen apart between them, he hadn’t known whether to feel sorry for Crystal or suggest she get professional help. No way should her sense of self-worth revolve around her dress size.
Returning to Shari with their drinks, he vowed not to think about Crystal—or work—any more tonight. Then their fingers brushed as he gave Shari her wine and only that mattered. Of course her soft, naked throat and well-draped breasts factored in. Her sex appeal kicked him in places that couldn’t take much abuse.
“I’m sorry I didn’t see the game,” Shari said after a semi-awkward silence while they each took their first alcoholic sip. “From what I’ve overheard, it was a nail biter with a walk-off homer by the shortstop ending things.”
“Walk-off homer. You know what that means?”
The look she gave him said he wasn’t making any points with her. “I’ve followed baseball for as long as I can remember.”
“Why? Was that something the men in your family were into? Maybe before your dad got—”
“No. I became a baseball junkie on my own. There’s something about the strategy, the face-off between pitcher and batter, that gets to me.”
Although he bought her logic, he couldn’t help thinking she’d purposefully interrupted him. What was it Sheriff Bill had said about her, that she’d come to the county alone? “You didn’t have brothers who played?”
“I told you I was an only child.”
Watching her run her forefinger over the wineglass stem challenged him to touch her again. He’d put it off, however, because he didn’t want to distract her. “How old were you when your mother died?”
“Fifteen. No, fourteen. Why?”
She wasn’t sure. Wouldn’t her mother’s death be burned into her memory? Maybe not if they hadn’t been together.
“I’m trying to imagine who you watched baseball with,” he belatedly came up with.
She shrugged and took a deeper swallow of her white wine. “Various people. Sometimes alone. It doesn’t matter.”
Yes, it does,
he wanted to say but didn’t; her expression warned him not to. He’d invited her to dinner because going straight to his place had felt too deliberate. Now, despite the barrier she’d just thrown up, he held on to the hope that they could use this time to get to know more about each other—if the heat of her legs near his didn’t render him stupid and even hornier.
“Rodeo roping events were my thing,” he said after a swallow of his own. “I even got a college scholarship based on my performance.”
“You did?” She looked impressed. “I mean, I’ve never heard of a scholarship for something like that.”
He explained that she wouldn’t say that if she’d grown up in ranching country. He’d competed on the pro rodeo circuit for a couple of years, but ribbons and trophies and limited cash prizes didn’t keep enough gas in the truck or hay in his horses’ bellies. “My folks and big brother could have told me that before I put out for all those entry fees, but they let me make my own mistakes.”
“And decisions,” she said. “You got the experience. Wasn’t that the important thing, got it out of your system, so to speak?”
“Exactly. And I don’t have any regrets. Besides, I’m making more money doing what I am.”
She’d been leaning forward while he spoke. Now she further decreased the distance between them, improving his view of her cleavage. “Your family has to be proud of what you and your brother have accomplished.”
“They are.” Way past trying to keep anything from her, he said, “It still bothers them that the land doesn’t support all of us.”
“Maco?”
Drawn into her tone, he stared at her across the table. “What?”
If she’d been aware of what had distracted him, she gave no indication. “I hope you don’t regret the direction your life took. Listening to you, seeing how you dress and conduct yourself, I think you’ll always be a cowboy at heart.”
Yes, he would.
“Why construction?” she asked, surprising him with the conversation shift.
“I like physical labor. I’m also good with certain kinds of design and math—there’s a lot of math when it comes to building things.”
“Yeah, I guess there is.”
Encouraged by her interested look, he continued. “The first thing I designed and put up, with my brothers’ help, was a pole barn large enough to hold a hundred head of cattle. Mostly we used it for newborn calves and their mothers when the weather was particularly bad. Instead of focusing on agriculture in college like most of my siblings, I majored in construction.”
“Okay, so you, what, spent your weekdays going to class and weekends rodeoing?”
“Pretty much, although I took longer getting my degree than maybe I should have because I’d take time off to go home and help with the roundup and during calving.”
“Of course you did. I’m not surprised.”
Her comment made him fall a little bit in love with her. Bottom line, Shari understood.
When his name was called, she jumped up and threaded her way through the other customers. Despite the noise level, the atmosphere in here was relaxed, with people kicking back at the end of the day. Much as he liked having space around him, this kind of crowded didn’t bother him. Even more important, as long as Shari was in here, she was safe. No armed gunman would take a chance on—hell, what was he thinking?
“You paid,” she said with a smile when she returned with their pizza. “The least I can do is fetch and carry.”
“A liberated woman?”
She set the pizza down but remained standing with her arms braced on the table. “Do you have a problem with that?” He couldn’t tell whether she was teasing.
“Hell no.”
“Seriously?”
He covered her hand with his. “Seriously. Believe me, I’m impressed by what you’ve accomplished with Working Dogs.” He squeezed her fingers. “And I really like that you don’t wear those fake nail things.”
He thought she’d ask why he didn’t like artificial nails, which might lead to an explanation of his ex’s career. Instead, she sat down and grabbed a piece of pizza with her free hand. Taking a good-sized bite, she chewed. “Better grab it while you can. Otherwise, I’ll eat the whole thing.”
Yep, he was falling in love with her, all right, at least with her full-steam-ahead approach to life. Releasing her hand, he snagged a piece and took an even larger bite. He spoke around a full mouth. “I don’t think so.”
As they ate, they discussed such weighty matters as their favorite dishes, how well they performed in the kitchen—they both considered themselves serviceable cooks—and compared seasons. They even got into an
argument
over whether football season trumped baseball with neither giving ground. All the time, their gazes kept locking, and he had no idea what the pizza tasted like.
He wanted her. Hard. Full on. In-your-face need.
The baseball players left, and in the near silence that ensued, he felt even closer to her now that he didn’t have to raise his voice to be heard. She’d left her side of the table and joined him, scooting close in an attempt to counter the din, but although that was no longer necessary, she remained where she was. Their hips, thighs, and shoulders touched.
Oh hell yes, he wanted her.
“I want children,” she said in the middle of a conversation about how much money should be spent maintaining a used vehicle versus taking on payments for a new one. “Their energy and enthusiasm, that’s what I want. Watching those Little Leaguers brought it all back to me.”
Something about her tone more than the words themselves caught his attention. “You sound surprised.”
“I guess I am.” She was whispering and no longer looking over her shoulder at him. “I’m not sure I have the skills to do the parenting job all children deserve.” Picking up her napkin, she began poking holes into it with her thumbnail. “That scares me.”
Just like that, the conversation swung another 180 degrees. Without knowing where the knowledge had come from, he sensed he had to tread carefully or she’d bolt. A moment ago he’d been looking forward to getting her clothes off. Now he was willing to put that off, for a while.
“Just because humans are capable of reproducing doesn’t mean everyone should.” Was that noncommittal enough? “Prisons are full of people whose parents screwed up.”
“Those are the extreme examples and probably it’s simplistic to lay the blame on parents alone. Fortunately the majority of people stay out of jail, but there are millions of children who grow up without the nurturing they have a right to.”
Like you? Is this where you’re coming from?
“And millions who are nurtured, fortunately.”
“Fortunately.” When she kept her head down, he ached for her.
“I want children, too,” he said to keep things going. “Three girls and five boys.”
Her head lifted. “Good luck finding a woman to go along with that. Why more boys than girls?”
“To bring into the business and do the heavy lifting, of course.”
“What about the girls? Will any of them run machinery or pilot the aircrane?”
“Of course. And the oldest will become company CEO. My daughters will all have good business heads.”
“What if she wants to be a beauty contestant?”
“Over my dead body! Look, before this gets into an equality-of-the-sexes argument, I’ve had personal experience with women who cared about little beyond their physical appearance. It isn’t healthy.”
The teasing expression he loved seeing on her faded. She nibbled at the bit of crust she’d put down earlier. “Who were they?”
Damn it, this wasn’t where he’d wanted the conversation to go. Why had he spoken without thinking? On the other hand, if he didn’t open a window to his past, maybe she’d never do the same. Pondering how to begin, he looked around. Two men and two women, all of retirement age, were at one table. At another a teenage couple was more interested in holding on to each other than eating. An exasperated-looking woman was there with three small children while at another table a man sat across from what Maco took to be his maybe-ten-year-old daughter.
One man was alone, his attention seemingly on the big-screen TV where a sports’ news program played. He was the only one who didn’t have a pizza before him. Maybe he was waiting for someone.
“My ex did nails at an upscale salon,” he said, looking over at Shari again. Studying her mouth tightened his cock even more than the skin-against-skin that went with sitting on the same side of the table. He didn’t dare glance at her breasts again. “Her clients were either movers and shakers in their own right or married to the breed.”
“You hung out there?”
He shuddered. “Hardly. But Crystal brought me in to consult on some remodeling the owner wanted to do. I was there part of several days. That’s all I needed for the self-centered vibes to reach me. I’m glad you’re not like that.”
Her shudder duplicated his. “So am I. One reason I cut my own hair is because I’m out of my element in beauty parlors. I could care less about that world. Is that why you aren’t still married, different sensibilities?”
Talk about getting right to the point. “It turned out that each of us was a different person from the one we thought we were getting.” Angry, he shook his head. Grabbing his own napkin, he began shredding it. “That’s hardly the whole story. I failed as a husband. Put business before her.”
Shari’s hand reached for his so slowly that he should have been prepared, but as the heat of her fingers spread over his wrist, he nearly came undone. The touch was pure sex and yet more. Compassion. Concern. He let go of the napkin.
“Is that what she told you?”
“Pretty much.”
You started this. Go for broke.
“Crystal is a beautiful woman, breathtakingly so. I thought she was too thin. People said she could have been a model, but I think ...”
“What do you think?” She stroked the back of his hand.
Turned stupid by the sexuality behind what might have been encouragement on her part, he blurted out the only thing he was capable of. “Crystal doesn’t like taking chances.”
“Life comes with chances. There’s no getting around it.”
“She tried to live in a safe bubble. I think that’s why she did what she did for a living. Her skills and looks appealed to the kind of clientele the salon brought in, kind of like a walking advertisement. She made damn good money catering to women who demanded first-class treatment.”